Cookie Monster
by trecebo
Summary: Cookies turn out to be more than Bobby can handle. He needs help. The return of Mrs. A. Follows Anything Will Fit...


**Cookie Monster**

**A/N:** Originally published on the STFBEye website as part of a challenge. **Cookie Monster** is also a part of my AU crossover series St:fbeye/GIJoe, and heralds the second appearance of Mrs. Abernathy (General Hawk's mother.) **Cookie Monster** falls after **Things Change**.

To give credit where due: the first portion in italics is the issued beginning of the story. Not mine. I believe the illustrious Kav wrote it. Stfbeye belongs to Paxson/Pebblehut. GIJoe belongs to Hasbro. Random and assorted characters belong to me, and I use them randomly and some what assorted.

**Cookie Monster**

_A recipe for disaster - that's what this was turning out to be. With a yelp of pain he dropped the pan of burnt cookies and dived for the faucet, sighing in relief as the cold cascade of water cooled the burn streak across his fingertips. Even his oven mitts weren't cooperating, he thought, eyeing the gaping hole in one of them._

_His latest baking spree had turned into a weekend long marathon, dotted with one disaster after another. In his estimation, sugar should not look exactly like salt. Accidents were bound to happen and he was sure he wasn't the first person to put a cup of salt into a batch of cookies. And who knew there were so many kinds of sugar anyway? Demerra, yellow, dark brown, fine, confectioner's, cane…They looked different, felt different and definitely yielded different results when added to a batch of cookie dough. And since when did roll out cookies mean flattening out with a rolling pin, not rolling the dough into a ball? Or why hadn't his mother warned him that baking soda and baking powder were not interchangeable? And that eggs came in different sizes but recipes didn't specify which size was called for?_

_Head spinning, he muttered his exasperation in unflattering terms as he turned off the tap and set about cleaning the kitchen…again. He'd done little else the past two days and he was no closer to finding the perfect recipe, and the contest was this week! Cursing the collective bad luck of the 'bullpen boys' as Lucy had dubbed them he took out some of his frustration on the hapless charred remains of what were supposed to be his grandmother's never-fail hermit cookies. He'd likely have to become a hermit after this fiasco was all over._

"_Eleanor Rippendorf!" Her name rolled off his tongue like the vilest of oaths and he took great delight in upending the cookie tray into the garbage. If only Eleanor could be dismissed that easily._

_She had cornered their unsuspecting group at a restaurant, just as she had in previous years, catching them unawares as they wolfed down a hasty lunch without the girls for protection. Sue and Lucy had gone to Charlie's on some errand and Tara had been at an ill-timed dental appointment, which left the men of the team vulnerable to the attack._

_Eleanor had swooped in, a chilling combination of coos and trills as she launched into her latest charity project. A celebrity bake off._

"_That's great, Eleanor, but we're not celebrities," he had pointed out with a false sense of relief._

"_You are to me, fellas," she'd said as she batted her eyelashes and pursed her lips. He'd known a moment of blind panic when he thought she was going to lean over and kiss him but D had deftly distracted her by lamenting his unavailability due to his married status_.

"_This time it doesn't matter, handsome. We're looking for the best cooks DC has to offer from all walks of life. I'll put you in our Community Service Worker division. All we need from you is a plate of your very own home baked cookies and the recipe, written out in your own manly script. Our discerning judges…of which I am one…(twitter)…will provide the necessary tastebuds…(she rolled her tongue and poked it out the side of her mouth along with a suggestive wink)…We'll decide who gets into the semi-finals. The finals take place on the Fourth of July when you'll head up a hand-picked team to bake your cookies in our outdoor ovens and the public will decide who our top twelve winners will be. They win a page in our…Hunk of the Month calendar…photo and recipe included. All proceeds go to the children's hospital…How can you say no to that?"_

_A hearty round of nays had echoed through the restaurant and that was that until the call came from upstairs. In the interest of improving public relations it was deemed beneficial for certain agents to volunteer their services to a charitable cause…_

_He'd been baking each weekend ever since and had yet to find an edible recipe and now time was running out._

* * *

Leaning against the counter, he sighed. _How can I get out of this mess?_ Large hands unwittingly spread flour through his unruly hair. Rolling steel blue eyes heavenward, he mumbled a prayer. "I need some help!" Content that an answer would come, he went about cleaning his kitchen once more.

* * *

Mildred Abernathy was bored. Her son was overseas; the Ladies' Auxiliary meeting wasn't for another week. Dexa was in Florida, visiting her daughter. Lexie was in California, getting a tan. And her best friend, Aggie, was at a conference in Denver.

The genteel woman wandered restlessly around her kitchen, pulling open doors and drawers, waiting for inspiration to strike. Pans, racks, bowls... She reached for a bowl and began throwing ingredients together. Soon, the kitchen was filled with the smell of peanut butter goodness.

Chiming sounded not minutes later, as the oven declared the cookies done. Like clockwork, the door bell rang as well. Mildred smiled. Somehow, Alvin always knew when she was baking. "Door's open, dear!"

The radio-jockey came trotting down the hallway. "You know me too well, Mrs. A."

She patted his cheek, accepting his hug. "And you have never missed a batch, except when deployed. Have one?"

His grin revealed the little boy still residing in the grown man. With utmost care, he took the hot cookie and inhaled its luscious scent. "Nobody makes cookies like you, Mrs. A."

Mildred smiled. "Maybe you'd like to take some of these back to HQ. I know the boys would like some. Make sure Bobby gets his share."

Alvin choked on his bite. "Hawk didn't tell you?" His brown eyes went wide at her frown.

"Tell me what?"

"Manning had to go back to his Fed unit."

The older lady sighed. "No, Clayton didn't tell me. When did this happen?"

"Just a few weeks ago. Trip made such a good recovery, we didn't have time to think of a good way to keep him re-assigned." He wiped his hand on his pants before leaning against the counter. "I sorta miss the big guy being around. He and Wreck kept us entertained."

"I'm sure those two were a pair," replied Mildred. She paused in her thought, mind beginning to form a plan. "I know where he lives in DC. Would Lance be available to drive me?"

"He's out right now. I can take you."

"Good boy." She pinched his cheek. "Let me get my coat."

* * *

Bobby was up to his elbows in suds. Some of the burnt cookies just didn't want to come off of his non-stick pans. With a growl, he renewed his efforts to scrub the charcoal-like remnants into oblivion. The door buzzer sounded, breaking his concentration.

Grabbing the only dry towel left in the kitchen, he stomped to the peephole. A split second later, the door was open and he greeted his guests with a dazzling grin. "Mi'lady!" Long arms wrapped the genteel woman in a massive hug, giving her a slight twirl.

"Oh, Robert, you charmer, put me down!" She flushed a beautiful pink as she patted his dimpled cheek. "I just found out about your transfer and wanted to bring you some home-baked cookies."

Alvin stepped forward, not minding that he'd been over-looked. Being picked up and whirled about by the tall Aussie wasn't high on his list of things to do. "We saved you a few, Crash."

Bobby shook the man's hand. "Good to see you, Breaker." He swiped the box from his friend and lifted the lid. Inhaling, he gave a soft moan. "Do they taste as good as they smell?"

"Better," replied Alvin.

Mildred watched the men divvy up the cookies and practically swallow them whole. "Boys, did your mothers teach you to do that?" Her good-natured smile belied the scold.

"No, but the guys in the unit did." Bobby wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I wish I knew your secret. I could use a recipe like this to get out of a spot of trouble at work."

"You never quit, do ya, Crash? Wha'd ya do now?" Breaker made his way to the kitchen, searching for milk. A folded paper landed on the counter next to him as he poured a glass. "What's this?"

"Read it and see."

Taking a seat, the radio-jockey perused the flier, glancing at his friend from time to time. "I don't see the big deal."

"Mate, this Eleanor Rippendorf is harder to avoid than Beach on a PT tear. I swear, she's like a female piranha with legs." Bobby's look of utter befuddlement had both his guests chuckling.

"Surely, Robert, you can come up with something to present?"

His only response was to gesture at the mostly clean kitchen, then point to the full trash can.

"I see." Mildred pursed her lips, a plan forming. "Well, dear boy, I think help has arrived.

"First off, let me take inventory of what you have left," Mildred spoke as she opened and closed Bobby's cabinet doors with the practice of one who had open and closed many a door. Her 'hmmming' and 'oooommming' had both men watching closely. They could see where Hawk got his tactical thinking skills.

She came to sit at the table, pen and pad in hand. "Here's what we do. I'll gather what's left and organize. You two go to the grocery and get everything on this list." Jotting down a few items, Mildred handed it to Bobby.

He couldn't hide his look of surprise. "That's all I need to get?" he sputtered, waving a hand at the haphazard pile of recipe books.

"Yes, Robert. My recipe is quite simple and works when you have the right reason for it to." She shooed them away, busying herself with the kitchen.

* * *

Alvin led the way to the car, Bobby close behind. The grocery was near-by, relatively speaking, and the pair found everything on the list. There was one small argument over what kind of molasses they should choose, but they wound up buying both kinds.

Hefting the bags out to the car, the tall Aussie poked his friend. "How'd you end up with the Mrs.?"

"I always know when she bakes. It's like Spidey-cookie-radar sense." Alvin popped his gum. "Mrs. A is a character. She's like a mom to most of the guys." They plopped the bags in the trunk and made the return trip.

Bobby opened his apartment door to the smell of cinnamon cloves. "Smells like Christmas, mate," he grinned.

"Do come in, dear boys, and bring the ingredients, please." Mildred was standing in a clean kitchen, bowls and measures laid out with Army precision. "And now, you need to wash your hands before we get started."

When Breaker protested, he received a stern stare. "Alvin Kibbey, you wash your hands right now, or no cookies for you!"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied meekly.

"But, Mi'lady, I'm supposed to bake them myself." Bobby tried not to look concerned.

Mildred laughed. "Pish-tosh. We can do a few practice runs and send them to the base with Alvin. Then you can take yours to work. I know you'll get the hang of this double quick."

* * *

Alvin walked into the Common Room carrying a large box.

"You've got cookies!" cried Lance. The burly driver bounced on his toes. "Guys, Breaker's got the goods!"

Immediately, a crowd gathered around. Alvin grinned as he opened the box. "Yep, Mrs. A and Crash send their regards to all of you."

Hands reached for the homemade goodness and soon, sounds of delight were heard.

"Man, this tastes like Momma usta make."

"I think I'm in love."

"Ain' you gon' take m'last cookie, mon frere...I beat you."

Top walked in as Wreck dove in for his third helping. "Um, Sarge, you want one?" He held out the round wonder.

Conrad Hauser laughed at the sailor. "Thanks, but no. Roadblock might never forgive me if I get my goods from the black market."

"Oh, I don't know, Top. You can one or two, as long as you stop," grinned the big gunner. As resident chef, he had followed the smell to the Room. "And if you share, I'll let you have two pair."

"So, what's the deal with the goods, Breaker?" Trip tossed the remnant of his cookie in the air, catching it in his mouth and falling backwards out of his chair with a thud. "Owwww..."

"Easy, man. We just got you back on plan. You tryin' to be dyin'?" Block helped ease the demolitions expert upright.

"Yeah, Break, what's the scoop?" Wreck lounged against the back of one of the couches, munching away.

"Seems like Crash got wrangled into a charity event by some man-eater. He had to bake his own cookies for the initial taste test. Mrs. A happened to arrive on scene with yours truly and we got him squared away."

Block snorted. "I've seen you in the kitchen. And someone usually needs stitchin'."

"Hey, I helped keep things clean. Mrs. A is tougher than Hawk when it comes to cooking." Alvin absently rubbed his elbow, drawing Top's attention.

"And that?" The sergeant smirked at his radio man.

"Burned myself on the oven door, okay? Geez, I bring you gifts and you torture me. Fine. See if I spill on the major details of the cookie eating contest..." He dusted his hands of the whole room.

Wreck went to his knees. "Aw, come on, B. You know we still love you, man."

The radio-jockey stopped at the door. "Actually, guys, I swore to Mrs. A not to tell you anything more than what I've told you." His voice dropped to a stage whisper. "She's got a plan cooking and wants to get the tactical layout done before recruiting her helpers." He slipped into the hallway, a chorus of "Oooooos" following him out the door.

* * *

"Hello? Dexie? Good. I know you are on the board of the Children's Hospital Fund-raising committee. Hon, I need a favor. I need to be one of the supervisors for the Cookie Bake-Off. No, not a judge. I can't be impartial. Why? Remember Robert? He's slated to enter. Yes, I know. I just want to be on hand to keep reign on some of the judges. Alice Rippendorf's daughter is one. Yes, THAT daughter. I know! Some one has to protect those poor boys. You will? Thank you so much, dear. I know. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

"This is Mrs. Abernathy. Please connect me to Sgt. Hauser's office. Thank you. Hello, Conrad? This is Mildred Abernathy. Yes, I'm fine, dear. Did you get any cookies? You did? Wonderful. Listen, dear, I might need a favor. Oh, don't say that, dear. You know I'll take you up on it. Well, this might qualify. Can I borrow Lance and Wayne on the Fourth for a charity event? Poor Robert is in this cookie bake-off contest. I know he's going to go to the finals and I need some extra protection for him on that day. Now, dear, I can't tell you my reasons. Need to know and all that, right? I knew you'd see it my way. Of course. All of the unit is invited for the fun. Yes, I'll send you the details as they come along. Yes, dear. I will. Good-bye."

* * *

Bobby Manning sat in D's office, guarding his cookies. Several times, agents from every level had tried to waylay him, causing him to be late to his meeting with his one-time supervisor.

Even now, Dimtrius had his eyes fixed on the box in the Aussie's lap. "Oh, not you, too!"

D grinned slyly. "I know better than to ask for one of those, but could I have the recipe? Donna loves peanut butter cookies..."

"No problem, mate." He pulled a copy from his jacket pocket. "Just hide it before the Ripper comes."

A golden band flashed in the light. "She can't touch me, brother."

Bobby considered sticking out his tongue, then thought better of it. "You know if Myles' group came up with anything good?"

"Yeah, Thompkin emailed me earlier. Seems our favorite Einstein with a spatula arrived with cinnamon-cherry snickerdoodles or something like that."

Burying his head in his hands, the Aussie mumbled, "I don't really want to win."

"Don't worry. The Feds are boasting at least two other teams for entries. There's a good statistical chance you won't make it past the first round." D leaned back in his chair, waiting for the reaction.

Right on cue, Bobby straightened. "I don't want to lose, either."

"That's the spirit." He rose and crossed to the door. "Now, get those delivered before someone commits a crime to get one."

"Yes, sir!" Tossing off a smart salute, Special Agent Manning marched off to face his doom.

* * *

"I tell you, Myles, I'd rather wrestle killer crocs than face her again." Bobby perched on the corner of his friend's desk.

A blond brow rose in response to the plaintive statement. "I believe you said you've done that before..."

"Well, not _killer_ crocs, but that's beside the point." Long fingers picked up a box of rubber bands only to have them taken away.

"I do know the feeling, if you remember. I had to deliver mine as well." Myles shuddered, a pained look crossing his aristocratic features. " On second thought,I have to heartily concur with your assessment,. Crocodiles would seem tamer by comparison."

"Are you two gossiping again? What would Lucy say if she saw you now?" Sue approached, both men turning so they faced her.

"You know better than that, Thomas. Manning and I were merely discussing the merits of crocodile wrestling over cookie baking."

"I see," she replied. "And you were disparaging Eleanor again, weren't you?"

Both had the grace to look chagrined. "But Sue, you know how she can be..."

"I do. I also know, that words can still hurt people, even when not spoken directly to them."

Bobby threw a glance at his former desk partner. "She's right."

"Oh, I know. I'm used to it."

"You should be." He stood and shook the Bostonian's hand. "I'd love to stay and yammer on, but I'd better get downstairs. I have a lecture for the bomb squad on how to identify and diffuse IEDs."

Sue followed him into the hallway. "Bobby?"

He turned back, his face a question.

"Good luck."

* * *

Eleanor watched from the edge of the corridor. So many men, so little time. She watched as the last plate of cookies was delivered by Det. Corizon of DC Metro. The little band of gold in his left hand was an efficient deterrent and she sighed to herself. _I thought for sure..._

With grim determination, she pushed away from the wall, not looking where she was going. Her forward momentum was stopped by a solid wall of muscle, but not before she bumped heads with said wall. She went down, seeing a few stars and a shiny pair of shoes. "Owwww."

"Lance, did you have to run the lady down?" A second pair of shoes joined the first.

Eleanor blinked, trying to clear her head. She rolled as gracefully as she could in her skirt, regaining her footing. Strong hands reached out to assist her.

"Let me help...wow, you're a tall drink of water."

She raised a slender brow and snapped back, "Want a drink?"

A pair of chocolate, _OMG, DARK Chocolate! _eyes stared back at her. When one closed in a wink, Eleanor stopped breathing. "Maybe. You offering?"

She stared at him openly. At tall as she was, he had what she deemed perpetual five o'clock shadow and jet black hair. A leer bordering on predatory twisted his mouth in a most satisfying manner.

Smoothing her skirt, Eleanor tossed her head back, assuming a model pose. "Yes."

"LANCE! Come on, we got to get these out of here, ASAP," called an annoying disembodied voice.

"Wait, I got a pen here somewhere." The aforementioned Lance patted his shirt pockets and searched his slacks. Muttering under his breath, he mutter several invectives before hollering back, "Coming, coming, keep your shirt on!"

"Here," she offered, extending a card. "It has my...home number on it."

His eyes lit up. "Home number, eh? Well," he looked at the card, "Eleanor Rippendorf, I might just have to call you, take you up on that drink."

"You do that–"

"Lance. Lance Steinberg–"

"Lance." She licked her lips, inhaling slowly, hoping this wasn't a dream. "Lance."

He nibbled the edge of the card before sliding it into his shirt pocket. "I'll see _you_ later, Dollface." He tossed off a hasty salute as he dashed toward the disgruntled sounds of his friend.

Eleanor turned to watch his bu-retreat. She touched her forehead, wondering if she'd smacked it a little too hard. A growl rumbled down the hall, grabbing her attention. He was now walking backwards with boxes of cookies, waggling his eyebrows at her. Her hand rose unbidden, giving a tiny wave as the stranger disappeared. _Oh, my_.

* * *

Bobby was perched on the edge of a desk, looking over his notes from the lecture when someone cleared their throat. "Whatcha doin', Crash?"

The Aussie glanced over, seeing two men paused in the doorway. "Hey guys, what's up?"

Wayne growled. "I got stuck on cookie duty with the Leech here."

"Hey, I resemble that remark. And I'll have you know, I got her number." He patted his pocket. "Right here and everything."

The Ranger shuddered. "Lance, if I had a dollar for every number you supposedly had, I'd be rich by now."

Bobby grinned at the harsh banter. "You hittin' on the sheilas here at the Fed, Clutch? I'm surprised anyone bit."

"Oh, man, this one is a looker. Tall and sassy, the way I like 'em."

A sudden dread filled the Aussie. He stepped over and pulled the card out. "You better not be..." He looked up to find both men staring.

"Give that back, I got that from her fair and square, Crash." Lance shifted the boxes he held, trying to reach for the tiny rectangle.

"Ah, ah, mate. I'm going to give you one warning: you hurt her and I'll be the least of your worries." His steel blues glinted merrily.

Groaning at the thought of Clutch and any woman, Wayne snarled, "Can we get moving? I don't want to keep Mrs. A waiting. The judges will be clamoring for these."

Bobby slid the card back into Lance's pocket. He stared the grease monkey in the eye. "I mean it, Clutch. Rippy may not be my cuppa, but she's got powerful friends that _you_ know. Treat her nice."

Snorting at the both of them, Lance stood taller. "You'll see. I know how to treat a woman." He stormed down the hallway, leaving Wayne to follow in his wake.

"What has Mrs. A done?" murmured the Aussie. "What _has _she done?"

* * *

Mildred Abernathy smiled at the children gathered in the room. She'd done some wrangling and had the judging expanded to include the patients from the Children's Hospital. When Wayne and Lance came through the door, they were greeted with true heroes' welcome.

"Thank you, boys. Set the boxes over there and let's divvy out the goods, shall we?" She clapped her hands for quiet, garnering the children's attention. "As soon as Sgts. Sneeden and Steinberg unload these for us, we'll get started with our important judging.

Screams and shouts drowned out anything else she might have said.

* * *

Bobby saw Eleanor walking toward the Dogpound-_I can't believe Myles works in a place called the Dogpound_-and jogged to catch up with her.

"Eleanor."

She didn't miss a step. "Yes, Robert? I'm quite busy today." A load of file was carefully balanced in her arms.

"Can I help you with that?"

Her sudden stop had him striding past and whipping around to face her. "Why?"

"'Cause that looks like it could fall."

"You never have offered to help before." She looked at him, accusation in her gray-green eyes.

He ducked his head and grimaced, admitting, "I know."

When she moved to step around him, he blocked her path. "Just...be careful, okay?"

He saw her eyes widen at his words, before she gave a slight nod. She went on her way and he watched her go, hoping Mrs. A knew what she was doing.

* * *

Eleanor knew she was being foolish, waiting by the phone, but she couldn't help it. When Bobby had admonished her to be careful, she knew he would call. But it was getting late. Nearly ten o'clock. _Maybe I was imagining things..._ But her very vivid photographic memory told her otherwise. That twisted smile, his wink...those eyes. _Hudson has dreamy eyes, but Lance.._.

She couldn't contain a giggle as she thought of him by name. _Maybe I ought to call him The Wall. He felt like one when I ran into him._ That thought led her to recall his tall stature, a build more solid than her own, _perfectly capable of..._ She giggled again, glad no one could hear.

So lost in thought, Eleanor didn't realize her phone had sounded until the third ring. "Oh...oh..." She fumbled with the receiver, dropping it in her haste. "He-hello?"

"Hey, Dollface? Remember me?"

For the first time in a long time, Eleanor Rippendorf truly smiled.

* * *

Bobby sat at his kitchen table, staring at the recipe card Mrs. A had copied for him. Her handwriting was long and flowery, very old school like his own Gram. He fingered the edge, reading her words, the wisdom she added to her instructions.

"I wish I knew what you had in mind, Mi'lady," he said to the air. His cell phone buzzed in response.

"Manning."

"Robert, I've been meaning to call you. How did your last batch turn out?" Mildred's voice sounded so close.

"It came out great, Mi'lady. Thank you again for your help." He flicked the edge of the card.

"Robert."

"Yes, ma'am." He knew she knew something was bothering him.

"Are you alright?"

His silence answered her question.

"Okay, then. Ask me what you will. You know I won't be angry."

"Lance, Mi'lady? You set her up with Lance?" His incredulousness echoed through his empty apartment.

"Robert, what are you talking about?" Her confusion brought him back down.

"Eleanor...Eleanor Rippendorf?"

"Oh." That small sound from her scared him. "I didn't know. What happened?"

"You...really don't know?" He laid the recipe card flat, drumming long fingers on the table.

"No, dear."

"Apparently, Eleanor and Lance met. He has her number."

Her gentle laugh caught him off guard.

"Mi'lady?"

"Oh, Robert. He's harmless. I've known Lance for years. He's like all you boys, full of bluster and machismo, and just as nervous as the next one. Honestly, I picked the two most likely to scare away anyone to go fetch the cookies for me. I didn't expect anything like this."

"Sue'd kill me if anything happened to her."

"I'm glad that Eleanor has friends like your Sue to look out for her, even when she isn't looking out for herself as much." He waited, listening for the continuation after the pause. "Elly isn't a bad person, Robert. Her mother...is a bit..."

"I get the point, Mi'lady. We can't all choose our parents, nor our upbringing."

"I'm glad you can see that. I'd think you'd be able to look past facades and see more of the real person." Her tone held a tad of rebuke.

He grinned suddenly. "I did, today."

"That's my boy."

He blushed, her praise reminding him of his Gram. In an effort to change the subject, he grabbed a cookie. "How'd the judging go?"

"Now, dear, you know I can't tell you. Let's just say, the calendar will be a great success."

"Mrs. Abernathy, you are brilliant." He picked up the recipe card and held it close. "You turned my recipe for disaster in to a recipe for fun."

"Love will work wonders every time, dear boy. It's the ingredient that goes with everything."

THE END


End file.
